Rosanna
by GorimJr
Summary: Peter's mother comes into Boston for a couple of days with her son. Unfortunately, Peter has neglected to mention that he's working with his slightly deranged father. Whom she greatly dislikes. Will Peter be able to explain exactly WHY he wants to stay?
1. Chapter 1

**This started as something funny... And ended up this. I'll post the funny one someday. It's Peter talking in his sleep. XD**

**"NO! THAT'S NOT HOW IT GOES, BITCH!" "O_o" **

**It's not sexual. XD**

**Anyway, I recently became obsessed with Fringe. With a capital O-B-S-E-S-S-E-D. I love it to pieces. I pray that I'll be able to actually see how it ends, without it pulling a Firefly and simply being axed. DON'T DO IT, FOX! DX **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. It'll probaby be a two-shot.  
**

Wind blew shrilly on a chilly December day in Boston Massachusetts. It was a couple of days before Christmas, and the holiday season was in full swing, with Christmas music blaring on nearly every station of the radio, Christmas lights festooned the street lights and smaller buildings, and people rushing around, trying to get last minute Christmas shopping done. Underneath Harvard, in a basement lab however, a trio of fringe scientists sat around, doing next to nothing about this excess of holiday cheer that went on past the door.

Walter Bishop worked on perfecting his laboratory root beer. He'd done a dozen different verities, but each time he'd throw them away, saying disgustedly, "Not quite right." Now he sat, tapping his fingers on the table, thinking, occasionally jotting something down, and humming Christmas carols.

Astrid Fornsworth rushed through last minute paperwork, biting her lip as she scribbled through mounds of paper. She'd never been this far behind, and vowed to go out of her way to make sure that a catastrophe of this magnitude never happened again.

Peter Bishop was on the floor, his legs propped against the wall so that his body formed a 90 degree angle. One arm was draped over his eyes, and his breathing was deep and rhythmic. Walter had been muttering about his root beer for nearly the whole night, and the man seemed to have some kind of internal energy source beyond that of mere mortals. While Peter almost fell asleep at the wheel driving to Harvard, Walter was wide awake, humming along to Jingle Bell Rock.

It was quiet in the lab. There hadn't been a case in nearly a month, and Walter soon ran out of actual experiments. Soon enough, all he did was work on his many variations of soda. Peter piddled around on the piano, but basically just sat around, reading a book or something, helping Astrid keep an eye on Walter and make sure he didn't blow anyone up or kill himself, intentionally or no.

Soon, both of the Bishops were bashing their heads against the walls of the lab in boredom. The days pushed on, until Christmas was upon them, and new pressures went on them that they largely chose to ignore.

Walter grew tired of thinking up ways to create Root Beer, however. This was a remarkable feat. He looked around for something else to do.

Peter was asleep, otherwise he'd just start up a conversation with him. Astrid was obviously too busy to be good company. What to do, what to do?

His eyes fell on a large pile of mail, mostly addressed to Peter. He picked it up, curious.

Peter Bishop, would you be interested in…?

Peter Bishop, you subscription will end in…

To Peter Bishop, 5th W. St, Apt 20, Boston Massachusetts.

The crispness of the letters; the way "Bishop" was written… Something was terribly familiar. He closed his eyes and bent all of his superior intellect into figuring out who's handwriting it was.

He gasped, memories rushing back to him. He ran over to his sleeping son and, without ceremony, kicked him in the ribs.

Peter yelped, then glared at his father. "_What?_" He snapped, really not in the mood for… Walter.

Walter coolly handed him the thick, off-white paper envelope. Peter snatched it away from him. "You know Walter, going though my mail is a federal offense," he snarled, opening the letter and skimming it.

Walter waited for whatever was on that piece of paper to sink in. It wouldn't be good.

It sunk in. Peter went white, his jaw dropped. He scrambled up, ran to Astrid and yelped, "What time is it?! Quick!"

Astrid looked at her watch. "Uh, 3:15, why?"

"_Damn!_ Do you mind if I borrow your car, Astrid?" He asked, fidgeting like a five year old.

"No… What's going on?" She asked slowly, handing him her keys. He grabbed them and, rushed out of the door into the snow, throwing on his coat, yelled behind him, "My mom's coming to town!"

--

Peter pulled up outside of the airport, looking at the crowd, trying to pick out his tiny mother from the throng of people.

He didn't see her. He was starting to get worried when a soft tap came from the window.

His mother grinned at him, her bright blue eyes, the same as his, sparkled. Her long, thick blond-and-gray curls hung around her face. She was bundled up liberally in some of the weirdest things, all with colors that clashed magnificently. Peter couldn't help but grin.

His mother hopped into the passenger seat, holding a duffle bag.

"Hey, Goose," she said cheerfully. "How have you been?"

"Pretty good, Mom," he said. "I haven't seen you in awhile."

"No, you haven't. You didn't even come over for Thanksgiving." She pouted teasingly.

"Sorry. There was a case I had to work on." Peter said, then winced. _Shit_.

"Oh! A case? For what? Are you with the police?" She asked, her eyes shining.

"Yeah. Kind of. Homeland Security." He said slowly. _I'm going to have to tell her eventually…_

"Ohh! How interesting! What do you do in there?"

"… I'm a civilian consultant."

"Really? What kinds of things?"

"…"

--

Walter scowled, reading the letter for the hundredth time.

_Dear Peter-_

_I hope you've been well, and that you're finding some peace in Boston. I must say, I didn't expect you to go back there! I know that you've been through some rough times, Honey, but it's good that you can face your fears._

_I'm a bit disappointed that you couldn't come down for Thanksgiving, but I'm sure you have a good reason. But, since you couldn't come down here, I've decided to come to you! Isn't that interesting? I hope you don't mind too much._

_I'll make deviled eggs. :)_

_I'll meet you at the airport at 3:30. I can't wait to see you, Goose!_

_Love-_

_Mom_

He wanted very much to crumple it up, but he knew that Peter wouldn't like that.

In the last years of their crumbling marriage, Walter and his wife hadn't gotten along well. She'd called him everything from Crackpot to Killer. And his words had been just as bad, if not worse.

But he knew that Peter loved his mother. He always had and he always would. Mothers are very different from fathers in that respect.

And the early years had been wonderful. She had been interested, supportive. She was going to teach chemistry at MIT, and she wanted her children to go there too. So she could teach them. He told her what he knew about fringe science, which she found fascinating, and things built on top of that. She was pretty, kind, out-spoken. She wasn't afraid to speak out. Unfortunately, it was that trait, which he'd admired the most in her in the early years, that made the relationship crumble later.

And now she was coming here. This wouldn't be good. She knew precisely what buttons to push to make him angry. Just like Peter. Only now Peter did not actively try to push them, and God knows she would.

The sound of a car parking outside hit his and Astrid's ears. Astrid stood up, trying to make things a bit more clean. Walter got up… and bailed. He rushed into Gene's room and shut the door.

"Walter!" Astrid gasped.

"I really don't think seeing her would be good, Astor," he said. "We'd just fight."

Astrid was about to say something when the door burst open.

A small woman about Walter's age (perhaps a bit younger) stepped in, looking furious. Her anger was slightly marred by how kindly she looked. She was tiny, pixyish, with long, abundant curls that were blond tinged with gray. Her sharp, ice-blue eyes were the exact same as Peter's, but hers currently crackled with a rage that Astrid never saw in Peter. His rage was always cold and calculating. This rage was obviously a hurricane, a storm that was going to rip Walter apart.

"Um, hi," Astrid said hesitantly. "I'm Astrid Fornsworth." The woman shifted her sharp gaze towards Astrid, and the young woman winced.

Then the ice in the woman's eyes melted. She smiled and went over to Astrid, grasping her hands in hers.

"Hello, Dear! Are you… Astrid or Olivia?" She asked, looking at the younger woman warmly.

"A-Astrid." Astrid stammered. The change in this woman was confusing.

"Astrid," a small voice said from the door. Peter walked in, looking around the lab, his hands behind his back. "This is my mom. Uh… where's… Uh…"

"I'm right here, Peter." Walter said softly, walked out from Gene's room. The woman's eyes landed on Walter and froze again, becoming a storm that made both Bishops wince.

"Walter." She said coldly, turning to him and crossing her arms.

"Rosanna," Walter muttered.

**I was listening to Rosanna by Toto when I was writing this. She was going to be either Rachel, Jessica, Alice or Moira.**

**Of course, Moira is someone completely different in my fanfic Fringe head. XD I almost actually named her Olivia, just for the hell of it. But I decided Rosanna was better.**

**If Peter acts OOC in this, I'll just say... he's nicer to his mother, and just KNOWS there's going to be a fight. Kids don't like it when they're parents fight. Even if one is slightly insane. Actually, scratch that. Especially if one is slightly insane.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here it is! The second chapter! I'm surprised I've gotten such kind reviews! Thank you all so much! **

**You know, originally, Rosanna didn't put up much of a fight. But I changed that after reading the reviews and knowing you all were looking for DRAMA! XD**

**One more chapter after this. And...**

**Maybe 10 episodes is a bit early for huge fanfics, but...**

**I would like to post my big one, but only if you all think it's... well, not in good taste, just... late enough in the story. I don't know. I just have issues, I suppose. XDD  
**

"_Hey, Walter! What're you doing?" Walter Bishop looked up._

"_Oh. Hello, Rosanna. I'm just looking at-" He jumped as she snatched the paper from under his fingers. She scrutinized the contents._

"_Precognitive abilities explained by science? They can do that?" She asked wonderingly. _

"_Well, sure. It's Fringe Science," Walter said informatively. "It's really interesting." He glanced at her shyly. "Do you… do you want me to tell you about it?"_

"_Sure!" Rosanna chirped, sitting next to him._

"_Well, you see, the brain…"_

But that was decades ago. The woman standing before Walter Bishop now didn't hold the same innocence and wonder in her eyes. No, she just held rage, and disbelief.

"Walter," she repeated softly, dangerously. "What are you doing out of St. Claires?"

"Mom-" Peter tried to explain, but she shot him a look that shut him up immediately. All Bishop men quailed at the sight of this angry woman.

"I was needed for an FBI investigation," Walter said slowly, trying his best to be civil. "Peter is my official guardian."

"Oh, wonderful." Rosanna snarled. "Because that's just what we all need."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who put me in there! If anything, it made it all worse!" Walter snapped, lucid and angry. Peter groaned.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Rosanna said sarcastically. "You were doing experiments on college students; on our _son_. What was I supposed to do? Lie? Tell them you were perfectly stable?!"

"I had myself under control! It was a mistake in the lab!" Walter snapped.

"No! No you didn't! Do I have to repeat myself, Walter?! A _car battery! _You were electrocuting my son with a _car battery!_"

"I was gathering data." Walter snarled.

"Bull!" Rosanna shrieked.

Peter made his way to the piano, sat down, and covered his ears.

Olivia walked in expecting to see Peter sleeping, or playing the piano. She expected to see Walter rambling, or experimenting with soda. And she expected Astrid to be help Walter, doing paperwork, or listening to Peter play.

What she did _not_ expect was Peter to be in a half fetal position at the piano, Walter having a scream out with a small woman, and Astrid standing next to Peter, patting him on the back, looking helpless.

"Oh! Look, it's Olivia!" Astrid said, relieved. "Olivia, help!"

"Excuse me, may I help you?" Olivia said, cutting into a rant from Walter, which was becoming a ramble.

The woman turned to her, and Olivia almost flinched. The woman's eyes were alight almost literally with displeasure.

"Hello," she said shortly. "Who are you?"

"I'm Agent Olivia Dunham, with the FBI. I'm a friend of Walter's, and your son. I was the one who allowed Walter Bishop to be released from St. Claires into Peter's custody." She felt as though she should save the Bishop's from this woman's wrath. Besides, it wasn't their "fault" anyway.

The woman's eyes narrowed suddenly. "Who do you think you are? Who are you to release this man? I know you're an FBI agent and all that, but you, you didn't even think to, to call, to ask for MY permission before allowing him out?"

"Mom," Peter groaned, looking up.

"Ms. Dunham, what I don't think you quite understand is that he's not sane! He's going to hurt someone; doubtless he has already!"

"Mom." Peter said more firmly, but not quite firm enough. Rosanna continued to rant.

"You bring my son back to this place; full of bad memories. And I don't even get a call? A letter? ANYTHING?"

"Mom!" Peter snapped, finally sick of it all. "Don't yell at them! Don't yell at Walter, don't yell at Olivia, don't yell at _Astrid!_ They don't deserve it!" Rosanna blinked, stunned. All eyes were on Peter now, who stood straight next to the piano. The young man took a few deep breaths before continuing, as though he was about to jump off a ship into a churning sea.

"It's my fault. I should have called, or sent a letter or an email. It's not Olivia's responsibility, it was mine. I'm sorry."

Rosanna blinked, still stunned.

Then her eyes narrowed. "Tell me exactly what you do here." She said.

Peter fumbled. "We… look into things that can't really be explained." He said vaguely, hoping that would be enough.

It wasn't.

"Like what?" She said frostily.

"Uh…" He shot a desperate glance at the three others in the room, but the girls had nothing, and Walter was still to angry to be of any assistance. "Flesh dissolving agents… and stuff." Peter felt like a kid caught trying to steal candy.

"Flesh dissolving agents." Rosanna said flatly. "And stuff."

"Yeah…" Peter muttered hopelessly. Gone was all the wit and sarcasm he pulled on. With his mother, it was all a useless façade.

"Have you gotten hurt?" She asked. Oh, lordy, what a question.

"Uh… Well, in this line of work, you can't expect to go case to case without a scratch! Right, Olivia?" He shot her a pleading look.

"Y-yes!" Olivia said quickly. "We work against fighting terrorists, among other-"

"That wasn't the question." Rosanna reminded coolly. "Have you, or have you not, been hurt?"

"Not… recently." Peter muttered.

"But you have." Not a question.

"Yeah." Rosanna's eyes narrowed.

"Tell me _everything_."

Peter had no choice in the matter. With an apologetic look to Olivia, he told his mother all there was to know.

After spilling his guts, it was all Peter could do not to grab his friends (and father) and run for the high hills. His mother had slowly gotten whiter over the whole story. He'd left nothing out. He had tried to gloss over his father's occasional (read: near constant) lack of focus, his apparent lack of regard for the personal safety of himself and others, and the strange, elaborate experiments that had been done in this room in the past months. However, his mighty mother, capable of seeing through even the thickest BS, saw it all.

If her jaw had been clenched any tighter, teeth would have fallen out.

"And… that's that." Peter ended lamely. He didn't even attempt to stare down his mother, who looked like she was ready to kill someone.

"Give me one good reason," she whispered in a voice that was like glass in an ice bucket. "Why I shouldn't drag you back to San Francisco with me right now."

There was a stunned silence. And, to Peter's own shock, he had nothing. How could he explain the actual feeling of accomplishment he got from being here to his mother, in front of his father and Astrid and Olivia, after whining and being dragged kicking and screaming through it all.

There was no logical reason not to go with his mother. Start a new life in San Francisco. He'd never been there, had no enemies there. There were no bitter memories waiting around every corner.

But he really, really didn't want to leave.

"That's what I thought," Rosanna said coldly. She grabbed the back of Peter's jacket and dragged him out of the room, not glancing at the shocked look on Olivia's face, or the horrified look on Walter's.

They were out the door before anyone could stop them.

--

"Mom, stop!"

"No! This is… terrible! I won't!"

They both trudged through the snow of Boston. They were walking to the hotel, Peter taking the advantage and trying to talk her out of taking him back to California. So far, no dice.

"Mom, I'm 29. I think I can choose what I do and don't do."

"Obviously you can't," she snapped. Peter had to admit. She had him there.

"Mom, you don't understand," he said softly.

"Oh, I don't-?"

"No. You don't." Rosanna turned, blinking at the tone in her son's voice.

"I want to stay here, Mom. I can't quite explain it yet, but… I'll try, I suppose." He considered what to say for a second, and for once, Rosanna Bishop said nothing. She waited.

"You've always known what you were going to do, didn't you? You were going to be a teacher, a professor, like Granny? Well, I didn't have that. I never did. I didn't even have the commitment to stay in school." He laughed bitterly at his own failure. "Now, though… It's like… I've found my-" _True calling…_"It's interesting. It's new. It makes my head spin, it makes my teeth grind on edge, and I _like _that. Walter's better too, you know." He smiled slightly at the shock on his mother's face. "Not the same, but better. He's making actual boundaries. Sometimes he's a pain, sometimes he's one of the strangest, most baffling men I've ever known in my entire life, but… I've gotten used to it." He frowned. "I'm making my own path now, Mom. It might not be something you like, necessarily, but… It's something I can be proud of, at least."

Rosanna considered that.

"Do you get the four basic food groups?" She asked.

Peter blinked. "What?"

"Food groups! Grains, Dairy, Meats, Fruits and Veggies. Are you eating right?" She snapped.

Peter smiled. "Yeah, Mom."

"Are you getting enough sleep?"

"… I'm getting sleep."

"Are you remembering to brush your teeth? You were terrible with that as a kid."

"Yeah, Mom."

"Did you stop drinking so much?"

"Yeah Mom."

"Did you stop smoking?"

"Yeah, Mom."

Rosanna sighed. "Well, then… I guess we should go back. I have to apologize to that young lady friend of yours. For yelling at her."

"That would be good." Peter said with a nod.

"But first," she grinned like a little kid. "I would _adore _a root beer float! And some cotton candy!"

**Blue, not pink.**


	3. Chapter 3

**One more, I think. It was fun; writing this chapter. **

Walter sat in his lab, hunched over in self-pity. It was back to the asylum for him. And just when he'd gotten some good company. Peter and Olivia and…. Whats-er-name.

He'd thought that he knew what to expect, but she was a great deal angrier than he thought she'd be. Granted, fight and screaming-wise, it could have been worse. But she'd taken Peter! Now he'd go back to St. Claire's, Peter would be cooped up in San Francisco, and Ms. Dunham wouldn't have the help she needed to stop the Pattern.

His forehead hit the tabletop with a thunk. The kind young lady patted him on the back.

"It'll be okay, Walter," she assured him. "Peter's sure to talk her out of it. He's good with stuff like that."

"Not with Rosanna," Walter said miserably. "You can't talk Rosanna out of anything."

"I'm sure Peter can! Right, Olivia!" She glanced at the blonde, who said nothing. Olivia was still trying to figure out how she would do things without Peter and Walter.

"Don't try and make me feel better!" Walter said sadly. "I know what's going to happen. It's been very nice working with you, Easter."

"That… wasn't even close, Walter." They all looked up in shock as Peter and Rosanna walked in. Peter sat next to his father. "Her name is Astrid, not Easter. Or Asteroid."

"Peter, what-?" Olivia started.

"I convinced Mom that, while my situation isn't necessarily ideal for many reasons, it's been helping a great deal in many ways. So…" He smiled genuinely. "I'm sticking around for awhile." He coughed. "Also, Walter, I told Mom you were making root beer in the lab."

"Oh…" Said Walter, still stunned. "Well, yes, but it hasn't worked very well. It's always incredibly salty, isn't it As…trid?" He said slowly, looking to Astrid for clarification.

"Yes!" She said, beaming. "It makes you want to vomit."

"Thank you for that…" Walter said, hurt.

"May I see how you're making it?" Rosanna asked suddenly. They all looked at her.

"What?" Walter asked, confused.

"The ingredients. May I see them?" Rosanna repeated. Walter got up and grabbed a piece of paper, handing it to her sullenly.

"This looks okay…" She said after looking through it. "You said it was too salty?"

"Yeah, insanely salty." Peter said. "I thought he'd put some drugs in there, actually." Rosanna giggled.

"Ah. Uh, Walter? What does tsp mean?" She asked, testing.

"Ten square pounds." Walter said promptly. Rosanna erupted into gales of laughter, while Olivia blanched, Astrid's jaw dropped and Peter snapped, "Oh, jeez! Walter! Common sense!"

"No! It's not!" Rosanna giggled. "It's teaspoon!" Walter snatched the recipe away from her and stared at it for a second, absorbing the information he just received.

"That explains it." He said seriously. He went straight to work, making a new batch.

Rosanna turned, grinning, to Olivia. "Hello. I'm sorry about earlier. I'm Rosanna Bishop." She held out her hand to the younger woman.

Olivia shook it, looking at her questioningly. "Rosanna Bishop?"

"Yes. I lack the motivation for a full-fledged divorce." Rosanna said seriously. "So, technically, Walter and I are just separated."

"Now you see where I get it," Peter said with a grin.

"Oh, so now I'm responsible for you habits?" Rosanna asked.

"Just the bad ones," Peter fired back. Rosanna smiled.

"There!" Walter said happily, holding a jug of newly made soda.

"Damn, that was fast." Peter muttered.

"It has to cool," Walter said, sitting down. "So… Rosanna." He said awkwardly. "Is there anything else you wanted to say?"

"Is there anything else you want me to say?" She asked pointedly.

"Sorry might be good." Walter said slowly. Rosanna laughed in disbelief. Peter held his head in his head.

"Oh… Walter, Walter, Walter!" Peter practically sobbed. But his mother surprised him.

"Alright." She sat down across from Walter. "I'm sorry that I yelled at you. I'm sorry that I put you in the asylum, and I'm sorry that I almost took Peter."

Walter stared for a second, then coughed sheepishly. "And I too, am sorry for yelling at you. And I'm sorry for all the mistakes that I have made in how I treated you. And I'm sorry for calling you a domineering bitch." Rosanna smiled, and nodded.

Peter's chair tipped over. He reached up, laying on the floor, and said, "Is this heaven?! It's so beautiful here!"

Rosanna rolled her eyes. "I don't respond to sarcasm until I get caffeine, Goose." She said coolly.

"You know," Walter said. "Peter's been brushing up on his piano playing recently."

"Really?" Rosanna asked, intrigued.

"You see," Peter whispered to Olivia as his parents talked. "They're completely capable of being civil, they just… go out of their way not to be." Olivia smiled.

"Goose, would you be a dear a play something for me?" Rosanna asked sweetly.

"'Goose'?" Olivia asked, her voice shaking with mirth.

"I will if you don't tell them that story." Peter assured his mother.

"Okay." She winked at Olivia, then looked thoughtful. "What's that movie… it's in Spanish. It's… the one where the girl is walking around and the guy… doesn't have eyes… But they're in his hands…"

"Pan's Labyrinth." Walter said absently as he checked on his root beer.

"Yes! Thank you. Pan's Labyrinth. The lullaby. Do you remember that?" She smiled.

"I guess I could try." Peter sat at the piano and played some halting notes, before remembering a bit more and playing.

Walter made himself a root beer float, sipped it, and beamed. Perfect! He turned and saw his son, playing the piano, and his wife (though whether that word really still applied to her was a mystery) sitting there happily. He sighed.

Walter handed Rosanna a root beer float. She jumped out of her reverie, and took it.

"Thanks!" She said happily, and for the first time in a long time, Peter's mother and father smiled at each other.

**Youtube (dot)com/watch?v=RjZZd0fP_Ow**

**That's what Peter plays. It's a very pretty song, really.  
**


End file.
